Ill Met By Moonlight
by Eliza Donelittle
Summary: Hercule Poirot is summoned to solve a murder mystery in a locked room at an English manor house and discovers echoes of an old crime.
1. Chapter 1

Neither Buffy the Vampire Slayer nor Poirot are my creations or property. They are being used solely for my (and I hope, your) amusement.

Ill Met By Moonlight

Chapter One - The Locked Room Mystery

A taxi drove up the long driveway lined with trees to the large old grey Elizabethan manor house. A short elderly man with a balding head but impeccable waxed black moustache got out of the taxi and quickly paid the driver. There was a constable guarding the front door who looked at the arrival with considerable scepticism as he slowly mounted the stone steps.

'And you are, sir?' he challenged the short elderly man.

'I am Hercule Poirot,' he announced. 'Your superior, Chief Inspector Japp, is expecting me I believe?"

The constable's manner changed completely as soon as Japp's name was mentioned. 'Of course, sir, please go in'. He knocked at the heavy door and another constable opened it. 'Monsoor Porrit,' he told him.

Poirot tried not to wince at the mispronunciation of his name, he should be used to it by now after living so long in England.

He walked into the hallway and looked round. It was a typical English country house, large, a little shabby and as usual, not very well heated. Poirot thought longingly for a moment of his smart and tidy flat in London, which was very comfortably heated.

'Poirot!' Japp hailed him. He had learnt how to say Poirot's name after a long time and a lot of practice.

Poirot beamed. 'My dear Chief Inspector Japp, I am very pleased to see you.'

'And I am pleased to see you, Poirot, I don't mind telling you. This case has got me baffled. Come into Sir Jasper's study and let me tell you all about it.'

Poirot allowed himself to be shown into a study. There were several ashtrays and racing papers scattered over the desk and the leather bound books that lined the bookshelves. The dust lay thick on them. Sir Jasper had clearly been fond of smoking and racing but not reading.

'Tell me all about it,' he invited Japp. Japp didn't waste any time but launched into the mystery.

'This is the family home of Sir Jasper Nyecombe. On Saturday, he had a dinner party. The dinner party consisted of the family, Sir Jasper, his wife Lady Winnifred, his sons Elliott and Anthony and his daughters Sarah and Monica. Their guests included the local vicar and his wife, and several young people, friends of the children. I say children but they were all in their twenties. Everyone arrived for the dinner party and all was going well until it was time for dessert. Suddenly, the servants heard screams coming from the dining room. They tried to get into the room but the door was locked. They could hear a great commotion and the screaming continued for some time until suddenly all went quiet. The man servants, the butler, the valet, the chauffeur and the boot boy had been trying to break down the door and eventually succeeded. What met their eyes was a horrible sight, Poirot.' Japp paused and Poirot could see that even Japp, a police inspector of many years who was hardened to unpleasant scenes, was moved. 'Everyone in the room was dead. There was blood everywhere."

'What killed them?' asked Poirot.

'We don't know. That's the truly horrible thing about the case; they had all had savage bite marks as if a wild animal had bitten them. Yet the servants heard no roars. And how could a wild animal have got into the dining room undetected? The place was in a state of complete chaos, chairs overturned, crockery smashed. There was no one living left in the room. And nobody left by the door which was locked.'

'The windows?' asked Poirot.

'Also locked,' Japp informed him. 'And there's more. We've questioned the servants and they say that there were two extra, unexpected guests at dinner. They turned up at the last minute. Friends of friends of Sarah Nycombe. That would make 13 guests in all but there are only eleven bodies in the dining room. Where did the other two guests go?'

Poirot stared at Chief Inspector Japp and then smiled. 'A mystery indeed, Mon vieux, but do not fret, you now have Hercule Poirot on the case, and Hercule Poirot will not fail you!' Japp tried to look as impressed as Poirot obviously thought he should be.

'Well if you can solve this case, Poirot, I shall eat my hat!' he declared.

'Please Chief Inspector Japp do not make such a rash promise,' begged Poirot. But Japp laughed, obviously thinking that his hat was completely safe.

'Where have the bodies been removed to?' asked Poirot.

'Yes, moved to the mortuary of the local hospital, St Elizabeth's but the place hasn't been cleaned up yet. I suppose you'd like to have a look, Poirot?'

'Indeed I would. One more thing, Japp, my good friend Captain Hastings will be joining me shortly. He was unavoidably detained in London.'

'I'll let the constables know to let him in.'

Japp led him to the dining room door, which was locked. Producing a key, Japp unlocked it and motioned Poirot in. The dining room had been restored to order.

"Were the men of the party, frail and feeble?' he asked Chief Inspector Japp.

'I know what you're thinking, what could overpower five men? And some of them, Sir Jasper and his two sons at least were all very hale and hearty. Sir Jasper was ex military.' Poirot nodded thoughtfully. He looked around the room, a typical English dining, all dark furniture and silver candlesticks. The stone fireplace and surrounding wall had stylised plants and fretwork carved into it

'Is there anything unusual about this room? Any secret passages?'

'Not that we know of,' answered Chief Inspector Japp.' I've questioned the servants."

'I would like to speak to the servants, in particular whoever spoke to the last minute guests,' said Poirot.

'That would be the parlour maid and the butler. I'll ask for them to come to the library.'

'No, no," objected Poirot,' I would rather see them in the kitchen on their home territory, to make them feel more comfortable.' Japp led him to the kitchen where several servants sat gossiping and sipping cups of tea. They all fell silent when Chief Inspector Japp and Poirot entered the room.

'We'd like to speak to Miss Carteret the parlour maid and Mr Mosley, the butler.' Japp announced.

'I'm sorry; Mr Mosley and Miss Carteret have both got the afternoon off. They won't be back until after teatime,' Mrs Wesley, the cook, a plump, middle-aged woman told them. Japp growled with frustration, 'I haven't got time for this."

'Then go, my friend,' Poirot told him. 'I will wait for them to return. In any case, I am expecting Hastings who had offered to drive me to our hotel.'

Captain Hastings drove up the drive to the manor house. He got out of his big new car and identified himself to the constable.

'Ok to leave it here constable?' he asked. His ramrod straight bearing and patrician accent got a completely different response from the constable to the one that Poirot received.

'Of course, sir. I'll keep an eye on it, don't you worry,' the constable told him giving the car an admiring glance.

Captain Hastings smiled. 'Good man,' he said.

The other constable admitted him to the house and told him where to go. As he walked down the passageway, a door opened and a maid peeped out. She seemed very surprised to see him and stopped short.

'Good evening,' said Captain Hastings courteously.

'Good evening, sir,' she replied. She had a cockney accent Hastings noticed. She had dark hair and big dark eyes with a guilty expression on her pale face.

'And what have you been up to, my girl?' asked Captain Hastings jovially.

'Oh nothing sir!' she exclaimed.

'Then why do you look so guilty? Out with it!'

'Oh sir, I have been a little naughty. They told us not to go into the dining room but I couldn't resist having a little peep. Please don't tell on me sir!' Her big dark eyes were beseeching.

'It's all right, I won't tell on you as you say. But you have been very naughty. Now away with you and don't do it again.' He dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a shilling coin to give to her. As he handed it to her, he was surprised to feel how very cold her hand was. 'You need to get yourself warm, go and have a nice cup of tea,' he told her. 'Tell the cook I said so.'

'Thank you sir, you're very kind,' she murmured. 'But Cook told me to go find the gardener and tell him his tea was ready.' She moved off towards the door.

'Off you go then,' replied Hastings and went towards the library, very pleased with himself.

He found Poirot alone in the library.

'My estimable Hastings!' was the response from Poirot. 'I am so very glad to see you!'

'Steady on, old chap!' said Hastings, moved. Then said suspiciously, 'Why are you so very glad to see me, Poirot?'

'Because it means that we can now go to the hotel which I trust will have some of the trappings of civilisation such as heating or hot baths or tisanes. One can but hope.' Captain Hastings laughed. 'Good old Poirot! Well, yes, I have my car so we can go now.'

Just then there was a timid tap at the door.

'Entrez!' said Poirot.

'Please come in,' corrected Hastings, frowning at Poirot.

Two servants popped their heads around the door. Mr Mosley was a tall; stooping man with immaculate grey hair and Miss Carteret was a slim, pretty young woman with auburn hair and blue eyes. (Just Hastings' sort, Poirot thought to himself). They both looked anxiously at Captain Hastings and Poirot.

'You wanted to see us sir?' they both chorused at the same time.

'Yes, I am Hercule Poirot, I am a detective and I have only a couple of very simple questions to ask you,' he told them reassuringly.

'Yes sir,' they both again chorused but Poirot noticed that the butler's hands were shaking.

' Which of you greeted the guests and took their coats?' asked Poirot.

'I did, sir,' answered Miss Carteret.

'Ah bien! Now, what can you tell me about the two guests who arrived at the last minute?' Miss Carteret wrinkled her nose.

'It was a man and a woman. He had fair hair and she was dark.'

'Very pretty with big brown eyes,' added Mr Mosley.

'I suppose,' dismissed Miss Carteret, 'but he was very good looking, very slim and a way of looking directly at you when he spoke to you.' He had clearly made a good impression on her.

'Did you catch their names?' asked Poirot.

'No, sir. We told the police all this, please sir.'

'I'm sure you did ma petite but sometimes when you talk about it again you remember a little detail that you might have forgotten the first time,' explained Poirot. 'Now, is there anything that you have now remembered that you did not tell the policeman before?'

Again, Miss Carteret wrinkled her nose; it obviously aided her thinking.

'No,' said Mr Mosley firmly. She started to reply in the negative as well and then suddenly exclaimed,

'Oh I remember! But it was such a little thing,'

'Yes?' Poirot asked encouragingly. Captain Hastings smiled at her.

'He had very cold hands, very cold. I remember thinking it was funny as it was a warm night, the night of the dinner party.'

'Did the young lady with him also have cold hands?'

'Oh, she wasn't a lady. She was a medium. I heard the young masters and mistresses talking about her. She was going to give a séance after dinner.' Replied Miss Carteret.

'Cold hands?' enquired Captain Hastings. '

'That's right, cold as ice.'

'Funny co-incidence,' mused Captain Hastings.

'What is?' asked Poirot.

'Why the maid I just met had very cold hands.'

Poirot's head whipped round to face him. 'Describe the maid,' he ordered.

'Young. Pretty. Dark hair and big dark eyes. Very thin.'

'Very thin?' queried Poirot.

'Yes, her uniform was far too big for her.'

Miss Carteret frowned. 'But all the maids have proper fitted uniforms, the mistress was very particular about that,' she stated.

'Well, you wouldn't forget this one. Very thin, very pretty, big dark eyes, cockney accent.'

'We don't have any maids from London,' said Mr Mosley slowly.

'Hastings, where exactly did you meet this maid? It could be of the utmost importance,' said Poirot.

'Coming out of the dining room. She confessed that she'd been for a look even though they had been told to stay away.'

'Mon dieu!' exclaimed Poirot. 'Quickly! There is not a moment to lose.' He turned to the table in the library and lifted up two silver candlesticks. 'Mr Mosley, where is the family bible?' Mr Mosley pointed to a small table with a very large bible with gilt edges. Hastings, bring the bible and come now!' Hastings, mystified, did as he was told.

As they hurried to the dining room, the door to that room was suddenly flung open and a man ran out of the room and down the corridor to the main entrance.

'Stop!' yelled Hastings. The man looked back, he had a young face with blond hair, which suddenly transformed into the face of a monster, snarling, with yellow eyes. Hastings was so shocked that he stopped still and Poirot cannoned into him from behind. The monster ran on and out of the main door. Hastings came to his senses and ran after him. He was in time to see his car careering across the courtyard and out of the drive.

'Hastings!' called Poirot and Hastings returned to his friend. He was in the dining room and holding a candlestick, was looking at the stonework, suddenly he grunted with satisfaction and pressed against the wall. The wall swung open to reveal a dark hole. Poirot holding his candlestick aloft peered in and uttered an exclamation.

'Hastings quickly!' Hasting shoved to this side and peered in. There was a white shape lying in the darkness. Hastings bent down. It was a young girl, in her underclothes, lying on the floor; He picked her up and carried her out into the light.

'Is she dead?' asked Poirot. Hastings looked more closely at her. He could see her chest rising and falling. She had a trickle of blood on the one side of her pale neck.

No, she's alive,' he answered.

'We must send for a doctor immediately,' said Poirot. 'Luckily, they were not very hungry so they did not drain her. The fiends! To leave her inside that chamber knowing that we might never find her.' A thought struck him. 'The policemen guarding the entrance, Hastings, go and find them.'

Hastings came back a few moments later. The look on his face told Poirot everything.

'Both dead, I'm afraid,' Hastings reported. 'Their necks have been broken.' He paused and then burst out, 'And they've taken my car! My brand new car, Poirot!'


	2. Chapter 2

Ill Met By Moonlight

Chapter 2 - Annalise

Poirot and Hastings were finally sitting in Poirot's room after hours spent with the police. Hastings was swirling brandy in a large brandy glass while Poirot had managed to get a peppermint tea, the nearest thing that the hotel could rustle up to a tisane.

'Poirot,' said Hastings suddenly. 'I can't get that man's face, that monstrous face out of my mind.'

'Did you tell Chief Inspector Japp about his face?' asked Poirot.

'No,' replied Hastings. 'I didn't think he would believe me.' Poirot sighed.

'You are right, Môn ami, they would not have believed you and it would have confused them.'

'Well, I'm confused,' admitted Hastings. 'Who killed the two constables? Was it the young man but then why would have he gone back to the dining room?' Poirot sighed again and shook his head.

'Hastings you are not using your little grey cells. Who killed the policemen? The young woman you mistook for the maid doubtless.'

'No!' protested Hastings. 'She couldn't have possibly! She was too fragile and delicate.'

'Looks can be deceiving, Hastings. I believe that creature to possess the strength of ten men.'

'Why do you call her a creature?'

'Because that is what she is. Tell me, Hastings, have you ever heard of the nosferatu?'

'No,' said Hastings simply. 'What is it?'

'Let me think what you call them in English. Aah, I have it. Nosferatu, vampire.'

'Vampire? Oh Poirot, you're pulling my leg.'

'I wish that I were,' said Poirot gravely.

'Vampires don't exist. Figment of the imagination. Count Dracula and Bram Stoker and all that rot.'

'Vampires do exist. I have come across them before and I had hoped to God never to meet one again.' The seriousness in Poirot's voice made Hastings pause.

'You've seen one before?'

'Her name was Annalise and she was my cousin. She was the prettiest girl of seventeen imaginable, Hastings with such big blue eyes and such tumbling curls.' Poirot sighed and then resumed his story. 'I had just completed my training and was a young policeman, keen and eager to make my mark.

One day, Annalise told me that she had met a couple, a young English clergyman, William Johnson and his sister. Drusilla She talked about them endlessly, how charming they were. She told me that they had invited her to tea at their lodgings. I felt slightly uneasy and became the big brother and commanded her not to go until I had had a chance to investigate these people. She eventually promised not to visit them until I reported back.'

Poirot sighed again, 'I was young and inexperienced, I thought that I could command Annalise; and she would obey without question. I was wrong. True to my word, I did investigate and found that the Anglican community in Bruxelles had not heard of this charming young couple. That same evening, I went to my aunt's house only to find that Annalise had gone out for tea several hours ago and had not returned.'

He was silent for a moment and then continued. 'I thought that it was the worst day of my life but I was wrong. The worst day was two days later when her lifeless body was found, white and drained of blood in a house in the suburbs. We later discovered the bodies of a family in the cellar, the family that the house had belonged to. Of William and Drusilla Johnson, there was no trace.'

'Oh Poirot!' murmured Hastings shocked.

'Of course I hunted for them high and low. I remembered what Annalise had told me about them. William had blonde hair and blue eyes and Drusilla had dark brown hair and eyes. They were from London. She had also mentioned the odd fact that they both had very cold hands when she shook their hands. They had laughed about it telling her an old English saying, "Cold hands, warm heart". I nearly caught up with them once or twice but I missed them catching a ferry by moments, I still remember seeing their pale faces recede into the dark. '

'Did you ever see them again?'

'I never saw them again until tonight. I only regret that it took me so long to realise what we were dealing with at Greystone Manor.'

'They told me the hospital said that the maid will recover,' Hastings told him.

'But not the two constables,' rejoined Poirot.

'No,' agreed Hastings. 'Not those two. But tell me, Poirot, how did you know where to find the girl?'

Poirot shrugged his shoulders. 'It was not that difficult. It was a locked room mystery but not so mysterious. I asked myself where the murderers could have hidden. There were no cupboards. I thought of a hidden room almost immediately. Although no one seemed to know of it, I discounted that because it was not the ancestral home of Sir Jasper Nyecombe. My error was not examining everyone minutely and quickly enough. I had assumed that the murderers were human and could not stay very long in that hidden chamber. Of course, vampires could stay a considerable time there without coming to any harm. I assumed that they had already left. I should have known better Hastings. Never assume anything.'

'But how did you know where to find the switch?' asked Hastings.

'I looked at the engraved flowers. The rose is the symbol of old England is not? And the thistle is the symbol of Scotland. So when I saw a thistle amongst the roses, I knew what it meant.'

'Scotland?' asked Hastings.

'Hastings,' cried Poirot,' do you not know your own history? Who was the famous Queen of Scotland? Why, Mary, Queen of Scots! And was she not Catholic? And I learnt in history at school that English Catholics in the time of Elizabeth the First had priest holes in their manors.'

'I never knew that you were such a history buff,' murmured Hastings.

Poirot tried to look modest. 'I am a man of much knowledge,' he admitted. Then he grew serious, 'Hastings, we have a new task. To hunt down those monsters and stop them from destroying the lives of more innocents.'


	3. Chapter 3

Ill Met By Moonlight

Chapter 3 - What Now?

'What now?' asked Hastings as he passed through the hall doorway into the sitting room in Poirot's comfortable flat. They had arrived back in London the night before.

'First, mon cher Hastings, we will have a cup of George's excellent coffee and then we will start to look for the creatures,' answered Poirot.

'Where do you think they will have gone?'

'I think that they will have gone back to London.'

'That's a pretty big supposition,' protested Hastings. 'They have my car, they could gone anywhere in the United Kingdom!'

'That is what Chief Inspector Japp thinks except that there are several factors limiting their movements,' argued Poirot. 'Unless they are exceptionally stupid they must know that the police are looking for them. They can only move by night and they have only so far that they can go before they must stop. The girl has a strong cockney accent. Where better to hide a tree than in a forest?'

'I suppose so.' Hastings was doubtful; he thought Japp was right and that the pair could simply hole up somewhere before daylight. Poirot asked his manservant George to provide them with coffee, which was soon quietly served to them.

Miss Lemon, Poirot's thin, middle-aged secretary entered the room.

'Ah, the ever efficient Miss Lemon. You have purchased the items I desired?'

'Yes, Mr Poirot.'

'Enough for all of us?'

'Oh yes Mr Poirot.'

With that she placed two brown paper parcels on the coffee table. Poirot pounced on them and unwrapped them to display four small boxes and four pocket-sized books. Poirot picked one of the boxes and books up and handed them to Hastings. Hastings looked at the book and realised that it was a very small bible. He opened the box and saw a silver cross with a silver chain nestling against the black velvet.

'Oh I say, Poirot,' he protested. 'Isn't this all a bit much?'

'Certainly not, Hastings. We must protect ourselves.' He picked up two boxes and two bibles and handed them to Miss Lemon. 'For yourself and for George. Please be so good as to wear the cross and chain at all times and keep the bible about your person. George needs to understand this as well.'

'I'll speak to him, Mr Poirot, don't you worry.' She left the room.

Poirot and Hastings finished their coffee and Poirot rang for Miss Lemon.

'You wanted me, Mr Poirot?' she enquired.

Poirot beamed. ' Miss Lemon, I require a list of the second rate theatrical agents in London and a list of all the smaller theatres in London. I then want you to ring the theatres asking them if they have recently had a psychic or medium giving performances.'

'Why on earth do you want that?' asked Hastings baffled.

'I cannot ask the police to do this because Japp is concentrating the police's attention on the ports and airports. As I mentioned, he believes, as you do Hastings, that they will attempt to get out of the country. Let us see if any of these theatres have recently had an act that fits that description. We can then call on the theatrical agent who booked that act.'

It took some time but Miss Lemon eventually came up with a small theatre who until recently had had a young psychic called Nancy Vilier performing there. Shortly after that she presented Poirot with a slip of paper with the name of the theatrical agent.

'Mr Edgar Windthrop, Frith Street,' read out Poirot. 'Come on Hastings, let's go!'

Mr Windthrop's address was in Soho, a rather seedy area of central London with many nightclubs and theatres. There was an Italian restaurant on the ground floor. They toiled up the stairs to the second floor and saw _Windthrop's Theatrical Agency_ emblazoned on a rather grubby door. They pushed open the door and saw a faded blonde sitting at a desk. The blonde looked up when they entered and said in a bored voice 'He's not here.'

'Will he be long?' asked Poirot.

'He said not but…' the blonde shrugged her shoulders.

'May we wait?'

'Suit yourself.'

They sat down on a leather sofa that had seen better days. Hastings gazed at the framed black and white photos on the wall. They featured a variety of men and women who had all inscribed their photos to _'Darling Windy'._ The blonde's desk was small and the typewriter in front of her looked huge and heavy. It occurred to Poirot that the desk might collapse at any moment if the keys of the typewriter were hit with any vigour. Luckily, the blonde made no such effort. `He reflected, not for the first time, how fortunate he was to have the energetic Miss Lemon as his secretary. However, they had not been waiting for more than a few minutes when the door burst open and a florid, large man barged into the room

'Any calls, Sophy?' Sophy replied in the negative.

'But these gentlemen are here to see you.' The large man swivelled to look at them.

'Come into my office, gents,' he oozed. They followed him into a small office. He shut the door.

'Now let me look at you.' He studied them intently, walking round them once or twice,

'Oh yes,' he said, 'I think we have got a lot of potential here. You the comedian?' This was addressed to Poirot.

'No, we,' started Poirot but he was interrupted by the large man. 'You're surely not the comedian? You have the look of a straight man to me.' This was addressed to Hastings who stiffened.

'No,' began Poirot again but he was interrupted by Mr Windthrop. 'I like the look of you two, great comedic contrast. You in particular have great potential. Have you got a dinner suit?' This was directed at Poirot.

'Why yes,' admitted Poirot, 'but…'

Mr Windthrop interrupted again; Mr Windthrop obviously liked the sound of his own voice. 'You're French! Excellent, adds to the comic effect. Now, what's your stage name? Because I think Monsieur Penguin, would go down very well.'

'Enough! I am Belgian not French!' shouted Poirot, turning a little red. Getting his nationality wrong was the last straw. 'I am Poirot, a _Belgian_ detective.' He stressed the Belgian. 'My friend and I have come here today to ask some questions about one of your acts, Nancy the Psychic.'

Mr Windthrop deflated and sank into his chair. 'You're a detective?' he asked wonderingly. Poirot puffed out his chest. 'Yes, and a very good one I might add.'

'Well, what do you want with me?' Mr Windthrop sounded nervous.

'We are trying to track down the granddaughter of a wealthy Belgian business man who has not long to live. There was a quarrel; a misunderstanding and she ran away from home. I believe that she is now on the stage as Nancy the Psychic.' Hastings was astonished at the ease with which the lies poured from Poirot's lips.

'Nancy doesn't sound foreign,' said Mr Windthrop dubiously.

'As I said, she is the grand daughter, she is half Belgian and half English but she has been brought up in England,' explained Poirot. Hastings was starting to wonder when Poirot's nose would begin to grow.

'There may be a reward for information leading to her discovery,' added Poirot.

Mr Windthrop brightened. 'Really?'

'Is Nancy currently performing at a theatre?'

'No. In fact, she's caused me some trouble. She didn't turn up for her booking at the Alhambra Theatre. The manager was quite shirty about it. It's not good in this profession to get a reputation for unreliability.'

'Have you been in touch with her?'

'I tried but her landlady told me that she had not been seen at home for a couple of days.' Mr Windthrop told them.

'Is it possible to have the address of her lodgings?' asked Poirot.

'Oh yes,' Mr Windthrop wrote down the name of the landlady and the address on a scrap of paper.

Poirot thanked him and they started to leave the office. Mr Windthrop called after them,

'Don't forget about the reward money!'

Once they were out of the office, Hastings turned to Poirot and said admiringly, 'I say, Poirot, you are turning into a most accomplished liar!'


	4. Chapter 4

Ill Met By Moonlight

Chapter 4 - The Vicar and the Landlady

'Where next?' asked Hastings as they walked down the street.

'Now we have an appointment back at my flat,' Poirot told him. They took a taxi back to Poirot's flat.

'Has anyone called while we have been out?' Poirot asked George.

'Yes, a Reverend Jerome Thornhill arrived some ten minutes ago saying he had an appointment,' George informed him.

'Excellent. Where is the Reverend Jerome Thornhill now?' Poirot wanted to know.

'I have put him in your office. I offered him coffee which he declined and tea which he accepted.' There was an indulgent note in George's voice. He had strong views about the proper time to drink beverages; in his opinion, coffee was drunk in the morning and tea in the afternoon but he was prepared to make allowances for a clergyman.

'Could you bring us both a coffee please, George?' asked Poirot. He and Hastings then entered his office. The Reverend Jerome Thornhill came to his feet as they entered the room. He was a tall, spare man with greying hair and mild blue eyes.

'Monsieur Poirot?' he asked. Poirot bowed. 'The Bishop of London sent me,' Reverend Thornhill told him, 'He thought that I might be of use to you.'

'Indeed you will but please be seated, finish your tea and we can discuss this further.' Once they were all seated, Poirot continued, 'Did the bishop explain why you might be needed?' The clergyman smiled.

'He didn't need to. If I am required, then I have some idea why.'

'I'd be grateful if you'd explain it to me,' broke in Hastings who was thoroughly confused.

'It is no longer fashionable to admit to a belief in the forces of evil that are not totally material. If asked, the Bishop would probably deny that that certain creatures of the night exist. Just he denies that my role exists. I am, if you like, the Church of England's Secret Service. I perform exorcisms amongst other certain specialised services,' explained the Vicar.

'Tell me, have you ever come across vampires before?'

'Vampires? And you've lived to tell the tale? I'm impressed.'

'Oh, I only saw the back of them. But Hastings here, survived a conversation with one.' The way that the Revered Jerome Thornhill looked at him; as if he were an interesting specimen, made Hastings go hot and cold.

'Fascinating,' he breathed. ' Male or female?'

'Female,' said Hastings curtly. He was embarrassed by the memory and hoped that the Vicar wouldn't ask any awkward questions. The Reverend Jerome Thornhill however asked many questions about his encounter which Hastings answered tersely before turning to Poirot.

'So you believe that they have returned to London?'

'It seems highly likely to me,' Poirot shrugged. 'We have just acquired the address of where they were staying. Would you like to accompany us to interview the landlady if she is still alive?'

Before answering, the vicar looked out of the window. 'Still several hours of daylight left,' he noted. 'It should be safe enough.'

'My dear vicar!' protested Hastings. 'I am bringing my gun.'

The vicar looked steadily at Hastings, 'Guns may stop them temporarily but not permanently. They are not enough. Have you any traditional weapons?'

'We have crosses around our necks and bibles,' Poirot told him.

'A good start but you will need more.' The vicar opened a large Gladstone bag next to his chair and pulled out two large crosses, which he handed to Poirot and Hastings. Next he produced two large glass bottles full of a transparent liquid.

'This is holy water. Keep a bottle of this and a cross ready for use when you go anywhere where you suspect a vampire may be. Don't keep them in your pocket that could lose you vital seconds. And seconds are all you have when faced with a vampire,' he instructed them. Hastings looked over into the open Gladstone bag and saw several sharp sticks nestling inside.

'What are they for?' he asked. The Reverend Jerome Thornhill's face was grim.

'One of the few ways there are to kill a vampire with a stake through the heart. But only when the vampire is sleeping, otherwise the vampire is usually far too strong. Although I have come across a few legends of a human who is able to kill them through superhuman strength, the Vampire Slayer, I believe he is called. If only such a person existed!'

'A pity indeed,' politely agreed Poirot.

'What are the other ways to kill a vampire?' Hastings asked.

'Decapitation or sunlight.'

The address that Mr Windthrop had given them was in the outskirts of southern London, in an area called Brixton. It was a rather poor area and the house that they arrived at looked a little shabby although Poirot noted that the doorstep and windows were spotlessly clean. Hastings rapped the doorknocker loudly. An elderly woman looking tired and anxious and wiping her floury hands on her flowery apron answered it almost immediately. She looked at them eagerly.

'Have you come about Irene?' she asked.

'Irene?' echoed Hastings. She sagged.

'I am sorry,' said Poirot gently. 'Your daughter is missing?'

'Irene is my granddaughter. I thought, I hoped, that you gentlemen might have had some news…' her voice trailed away and she looked hopelessly at them.

'May we come in?' asked the vicar.

'Yes, please do come in.' She ushered them into a sitting room crowded with furniture and knickknacks. "What can I do for you gentlemen?' she asked once they were seated.

'May I know your name?' Poirot asked.

'Mrs Bradbury.'

'Mrs Bradbury, we have come to ask you some questions about your lodgers, Sid and Nancy Vilier,' Poirot explained.

' Sid and Nancy? What have they done?'

'Are they here?' asked Poirot, ignoring her question.

'No, they've not been here for a day or so. They came back at the dead of night, collected their belongings and left.'

Poirot sighed with frustration. The landlady continued, 'I'm not unhappy that they have gone to be honest. They were ever such a nice quiet couple but they did make things a little inconvenient. What with her sunlight allergy and having to keep the house as dark and quiet as possible during the daytime.'

'Sunlight allergy?' echoed the vicar.

'Oh yes, her brother explained all about it to me. That's why they had to have the basement room. I was pleased as often my guests don't like that room, they say it's too dark and gloomy, They didn't want any meals either as they're on a strict diet and prepare all their own food. Funny thing is I never saw them bring any food into the house. They must have eaten out.'

'How long has Irene been missing?' asked Poirot.

'About a week now," she told him.

'May we have a look at Sid and Nancy's room?' asked the vicar.

'What for?'

'We are trying to trace Sid and Nancy as we have some good news for them,' explained Poirot. 'We may be able to find a clue as to where they have gone.'

Hastings looked at him sideways, it was not quite cricket, he thought disapprovingly, to lie to this poor old landlady as it had been to the theatrical agent, Mr Windthrop.

'Have the police interviewed Sid and Nancy?' Poirot continued.

'No, I forgot to tell the police about them. It didn't seem important. They both seemed very upset about her disappearance. Would you gentlemen like to follow me?'


	5. Chapter 5

Ill Met By Moonlight

Chapter 5 - The basement

They followed her out of the sitting room and along the passageway until they came to a door halfway along the wall. Mrs. Bradbury fished out a large key ring. Detaching two keys, she handed them to the Reverend Jerome Thornhill.

'These are the keys for the door to the steps leading down to the basement and to the basement itself. I'm afraid that the room in a bit of a state down there, they weren't the tidiest of people.' Poirot thought to himself that of all the vampiric vices that could be complained about, untidiness was not one that he had expected. 'Sid and Nancy have paid until the end of the week so I don't like to tidy up until I am sure that they are not coming back. May I leave you gentlemen to have a look by yourselves? I need to finish baking the cakes for the lodgers' tea and I don't want to stray too far from the phone in case the police ring.' She gave a longing glance to the public phone on the wall.

'Of course, Mrs. Bradbury,' said the vicar politely. Poirot fished in his pocket and gave a business card to Mrs. Bradbury.

'My card, Madam,' he said with a little bow. 'If you do not receive any good news from the police in a little while, I hope that you will not hesitate to come and see me so that I may assist you in any way possible.'

'Thank you very much sir,' said Mrs. Bradbury, her lips beginning to quiver and her eyes to fill.

'Think nothing of it.'

Mrs. Bradbury turned and went back along the corridor towards a green baize door. Poirot thought to himself of the magical trust that a dog collar inspired; that she would allow complete strangers to look through her house. The Reverend Jerome Thornhill put down his Gladstone bag by the side of the first door. He unlocked the first door, went down the steps and unlocked the second after handing his cross to Hastings to hold. Poirot had politely allowed the vicar and Hastings to precede him down the steps. The vicar was the expert, Hastings a man of action, and Poirot if only in his own estimation, was far too important a person to be the first into a potentially hazardous situation.

The basement was in complete darkness. There was a faint smell of damp in the air. Hastings could tell why the basement had not been popular. The vicar fumbled for a light switch, found it and switched the light on. The light bulb was not powerful but gave just enough light to see the room reasonably clearly. There were two beds in one corner of the large room, one double and one single. The beds were both unmade with blankets and sheets strewn over the sides. Another corner served as a type of sitting room with comfortable chairs, a round coffee table and a low bookcase while in another, an enormous oak wardrobe stood. The coffee table was strewn with papers.

'Hastings, look around the beds if you please,' instructed Poirot. 'Rev. Thornhill, could you have a look in the bookcase please while I examine the papers on the table.'

They went to their tasks. Poirot found a torn page on the table. It was from a very old book, the paper yellowed and crumbling at the edges. The writing was in Latin.

'Rev. Thornhill, do you read Latin?' he asked. The vicar came across and gently took the piece of paper from him, putting his stake down on the table. He read it slowly.

'Do you want me to translate?'

'If you please,' said Poirot containing his impatience.

'It says, "but the jewel of Mithras was hidden well by his faithful followers. It was given into the possession of those who are not welcome within the city walls but must stay without, who declaim in lies and deceit, with painted faces." Of course that is a rough translation.'

'Very interesting,' commented Poirot. 'I wonder as to its meaning and why it was so important to the vampires that they tore it out of a book.'

Poirot was looking thoughtfully at a flyer for the Alhambra Theatre when he heard Hastings cry out. He looked up to see Hastings' upturned horrified face as he crouched down by the double bed.

'What is it Hastings?'

For answer, Hastings flung up the blankets overhanging the bed and exposed a heavy steel chain locked to one of the bed's legs. He pulled on the chain and dragged a young girl, curled up in the fetal position, showing her bare legs, her long tangled hair loose over her shoulders, into the open. There was a metal cuff around her foot attached to the chain. She trembled and whimpered faintly as Hastings did so. She was only wearing underclothes, which were torn exposing her pale bloodstained flesh.

'Mon dieu! La pauvre petite!' exclaimed Poirot. He and the vicar rushed to Hastings' side. The vicar stooping over as Hasting and Poirot knelt by her side.

'It's all right my dear, we are not going to hurt you,' the vicar said gently to the girl. She continued to tremble and whimper.

'Who is she?' asked Hastings. Poirot's face was grave.

'I am very much afraid that we have found Irene Bradbury,' was his answer.

Suddenly another voice growled, 'Here! Who's mucking about with our food?'

They looked up to see a young man and woman standing behind them. Hastings recognized the young woman as the fake maid from the manor and the young man was the same one whose face had transformed so horribly. They all froze and in that instant, the young man grabbed the Reverend Jerome from behind, pulled him up against him and with a swift motion, broke his neck and dropped the lifeless body to the ground.

'Why,' said the young woman dreamily, 'look, it's the kind gentleman. I wonder what kindness tastes like?' She stood gazing at them.

'Better than a penguin, I bet,' was the young man's reply.

Hastings had recovered himself and seizing his pistol out of his jacket pocket, began firing at the young man who staggered back. Poirot seized his opportunity and smashing the top of the bottle of holy water against the metal bedstead, he threw the contents into the face of the young woman. She instantly screamed "My face! My face!' and also staggered back.

There came a sound of thundering footsteps down the steps and Chief Inspector Japp and two armed policeman burst into the room.

'Stop in the name of the law!' roared Chief Inspector Japp.

The two vampires ran back into the wardrobe and disappeared through a large hole shown through the open wardrobe door.


	6. Chapter 6

Ill Met By Moonlight

Chapter 6 - Irene Bradbury

'Quickly! Follow them!' shouted Chief Inspector Japp. The two policemen started to move to the hole but Poirot intervened.

'Japp, it is madness to go in there without lights or a map. They would have the advantage over your policemen who would be coming from light into darkness. I beg you, get the proper equipment first.'

He knew that Japp's men would not have much of a chance in the darkness anyway but at least he could delay the inevitable and there was always the chance that the vampires might have completely disappeared.

Japp considered this and then ordered his men to stop and stay by the hole in case the criminals came back while he ordered the appropriate equipment and additional backup.

'I'll ring for an ambulance,' he told Poirot and Hastings. "Poor lass,' he added, looking down at the trembling white form.

'I will go and tell her grandmother,' announced Poirot. "Hastings, will you stay with her while I fetch her?'

'Of course,' answered Hastings, taking off his coat and covering the girl with it.

Mercifully, the ambulance came quickly, the vampires did not return, and Irene and her weeping grandmother were taken off to hospital.

'I congratulate you, Chief Inspector Japp, you appeared just in the, how do you say, neck of time.'

'Nick of time,' corrected Japp grinning. 'And lucky for you that I did, Poirot.'

Poirot did not attempt to deny this.

As he and Hastings passed back through the door leading down to the cellar, Poirot stooped down and casually picked up the Reverend Jerome Thornhill's bag that had been left in the corridor and took it with him.

Poirot was very quiet as they returned to Whitehaven Mansions. Hastings attempted to make some small talk and then gave up. It occurred to him that finding Irene Bradbury down in the cellar was disturbingly close to what had happened to Poirot's cousin, and the similarity was undoubtedly not lost on Poirot either.

'What now Poirot?' he finally ventured to ask as he sipped a brandy and Poirot his poisonous crème de menthe by the fireplace after dinner.

'I think we need to speak to Irene Bradbury once she is well enough to answer some questions. She may have some valuable information for us. And I would like to visit the theatre where the vampire Nancy performed. Also, to pay a visit to Mr. Windthrop again.' Poirot sighed and fell silent again, staring into the blue and golden flames of the fire.

'I know that this must be very difficult for you, Poirot,' said Hastings, awkwardly, 'what with your cousin and all.'

'Ah oui, ma pauvre petite Annalise. At least we were in time to save Irene Bradbury from the fiends. I have that comfort.'

'And you saved that servant girl as well,' Hastings reminded him.

'But let us not forget the policemen who lost their lives and the Reverend Jerome Thornhill. I wonder how many other people have perished at the hands of those monsters?' Poirot shook his head and they finished their drinks in silence.

The next day, Japp rang up to say that Irene Bradbury had received a pioneering blood transfusion and was recovering well. On hearing that news, Poirot decided to visit her in hospital. Hastings, as usual accompanied him.

Irene was in a private room with a policeman on the door. Hastings was surprised at that. Mrs. Bradbury was sitting in a chair by the bed, holding Irene's hand. Irene looked very young and fragile under the tight white covers of the hospital bed. She looked at Poirot and Hastings with large, frightened eyes. They took off their hats.

'Please do not be alarmed, mademoiselle,' said Poirot gently. 'We have come to pay our respects and if you feel able, to ask you to have the kindness to answer a few easy questions.'

'Who are you?' asked Irene in a small voice.

'Why Irene, these are the kind gentlemen who rescued you!' answered her grandmother.

'I shudder to think what would have happened to you if they hadn't turned up.'

Irene shuddered too, her slim shoulders shaking.

'Please do not disturb yourself,' begged Poirot. 'You were rescued and all is well.' He waited a moment until she had composed herself. 'Might I ask how you met Sid and Nancy?'

Irene gulped. 'I met them at work. I work as a dresser at the theatre, the Alhambra Theatre, you see. Nancy was performing there and she was marvelous. She could tell people all sorts of things about themselves and their loved ones who passed on. 'I wanted to meet her and ask if she could contact,' she hesitated.

'You are an orphan?' asked Poirot.

'That's right, sir.'

'So you wanted to ask Nancy to contact your dead parents, am I right?'

"Oh yes, sir.' Irene gazed at Poirot as if he were a magician.

Hastings privately thought that it had not taken too great powers of deduction to work that out.

Irene continued. 'I managed to meet her and ask her, and she agreed but said that she would like me to do her a favour first.'

'Which was?' Poirot asked.

'It was to help her find something special for her costume. She thought that a piece of jewellery might brighten her outfit up. She wore a black gown, you see, very somber but she thought that perhaps it was too much. I look after the costumes, you see, and I have access to the props, the assistant stage manager and I have an understanding.'

'He's coming to see her this afternoon, proper worried he's been,' added her grandmother proudly.

'And were you able to find her that special piece of jewellery?' enquired Poirot.

'No,' Irene confessed, 'nothing was quite right. She said that she wanted a bold, flamboyant piece with a red stone but I never could find the right one.'

'Tell me, did Nancy and Sid ever appear at the theatre before dusk?'

Irene stared at Poirot as if he was mad.

'Why yes, of course they did.'

'Eh bien. What happened after you have tried to find her a suitable piece of jewellery?'

'Then she invited me down to the cellar for a séance but it wasn't a séance. They tricked me and tied me up.' Irene's voice faltered. 'I don't want to talk about it any more.'

'I will not press you. You have told me what I needed to know. You need your rest. But before I go,' added Poirot, 'I have a present for you.'

He pulled a little black box out of his coat pocket and opened it with a flourish. Inside was a silver chain and cross. 'Please accept this with my compliments. Pray allow me to put it on for you.'

Irene lay back on her pillow, the little silver cross shone on her chest in the light.

'That's very kind, sir. Irene, thank the gentleman,' her grandmother instructed her.

'Thank you,' she said in a puzzled way.

'Think nothing of it. A little gift to help you remember happy times and kind people when the dark thoughts come.' Poirot smiled benevolently at the girl. 'Adieu, Mademoiselle and adieu, Madam.' He put his hat back on and tipped it at them.

'Where are we going now, Poirot?' Hastings asked as they emerged from the hospital.

'To visit Mr. Windthrop,' Poirot told him.

'You also mentioned paying a visit to the Alhambra Theatre,' Hastings reminded him.

'Ah oui, the Alhambra Theatre. That must certainly be attended to. All in good time, Hastings. One must be methodical in one's approach. Although first, I must make a couple of telephone calls. Let us find the nearest telephone box.'

Once the nearest red telephone box was found outside the hospital, Poirot entered the booth and spent some ten minutes on the phone while Hastings waited outside and looked at his watch repeatedly. When Poirot emerged, he has a smug look on his face.

'Who were you ringing?' asked Hastings.

"Hastings, you are as curious as the cat!' cried Poirot. 'If you must know, I was ringing Miss Lemon and asking her to carry out a few errands for me. Now, to see Mr. Windthrop!'

They made their way to Mr. Windthrop's agency. As Hastings pushed open the door, he saw the blonde secretary lethargically typing on the enormous typewriter. She looked up and ceased typing as they came in.

'Have you got an appointment?' she asked.

'No, but I believe that Mr. Windthrop will see us if you tell him our names," answered Poirot.

'And they are?'

'Monsieur Hercule Poirot and Captain Hastings,' Poirot told her.

She picked up a black telephone on her desk and rang through to the inner office. After announcing their names, she listened for a minute.

'Yes, he'll see you. Go straight in,' she instructed them.

Inside the office, Mr. Windthrop looked up.

'Ah, Mister Penguin!' he exclaimed.

'Monsieur Hercule Poirot,' corrected Poirot.

'My little joke,' beamed Mr. Windthrop. 'What can I do for you, gents?'

'Mr. Windthrop, I must apologise to you,' said Poirot gravely. 'Last time we met, I fear that we misrepresented ourselves to you.'

'You what?'

'We told you that we were lawyers. I am, in fact, a famous detective. I apologise most profusely from the heart for the deception.'

'Yes, awfully sorry,' murmured Hastings, thinking that Poirot was laying it on a bit thick.

'But why would you lie to me?' asked Mr. Windthrop, looking bewildered.

'I'm afraid that I suspected that you were in, how do you say it, cahoots with Sid and Nancy. I realise now that you are a honest businessman and wish to tell you the truth about Sid and Nancy,' Poirot explained.

'Which is?'

'They are, in truth, dangerous criminals who are trying to find a valuable antique at the Alhambra Theatre. The antique was misplaced there some time ago.'

'What is this valuable antique?' asked Mr. Windthrop, a gleam in his eye.

_Don't tell him, Poirot, _Hastings thought.

'A goblet with a precious jewel, a ruby embedded in it. I believe that it was hidden in the props at the theatre. We are arranging with the theatre manager to go through all the props at eight o'clock tonight to find it.'

_Damn it, Poirot!_ thought Hastings, trying not to show his feelings on his face.

'I am sure that you will keep this confidential information to yourself,' Poirot said to Mr. Windthrop. 'You must understand that Sid and Nancy will stop at nothing to get their hands on this item and they do not value human life at all.'

Mr. Windthrop nodded and promised to keep it to himself.

Hastings exploded as soon as they were outside, on the street.

'What the devil is wrong with you, Poirot?' he demanded. 'That fellow will never keep quiet. He'll probably go and look for the goblet himself!'

'Do you think so?' Poirot seemed quite unconcerned, which enraged Hastings still further.

'I do think so,' he spluttered. 'I can't believe that you told him about the goblet!'

'But Hastings, it was absolutely necessary that I tell him about the goblet,' protested Poirot. 'How else are Sid and Nancy, as they are currently calling themselves, to find out about it? I am confidently relying on Mr. Windthrop to tell them.'

Hastings stopped and stared at Poirot, his anger leaking out of him like a punctured balloon. 'So you do think that he is in league with them?' he asked.

'Oh absolutement!'

'How do you know?' asked Hastings.

'Mon cher Hastings, have I not told you before that you need to listen carefully to what people say? How do you think that I know?'

Hastings thought for a few moments. 'I don't know,' he admitted.

Poirot puffed out his chest a little. 'Myself, Hastings, I listen to everything that people say to me and often they tell me useful information when I am not expecting it.'

'So who told you?' challenged Hastings.

'It was Sid or William as I prefer to think of him. Do you not recall, what they said when they appeared in the cellar?' Hastings did not. 'Nancy or Drusilla said "I wonder what kindness tastes like?" and he replied, "Better than a penguin." He was referring to me. Now, how could he have known that Mr. Windthrop had called me Mister Penguin? Because Mr. Windthrop told him about our meeting! Is it not obvious?'

Hastings admitted that it was but he said, in his defence; that he had not paid attention to what Sid had said in the cellar. Poirot shook his head.

'You must pay attention to everything,' he scolded Hastings. 'How else are the little grey brain cells to have the raw materials to work on?'

'But what is to stop Mr Windthrop or Sid and Nancy from getting the goblet now?' asked Hastings.

Poirot smiled. 'The goblet is not at the theatre, not yet. It is being made as we speak if we can rely on Miss Lemon to carry out my instructions, which of course, we can.'

'So the Jewel of Mithras isn't a goblet?' checked Hastings.

'No, no, I have no idea what it is. The important thing is that the vampires will now think that it is a goblet. We are going to the Alhambra Theatre to arrange a little trap for our monsters.'


End file.
